


when all's said and done

by argentumn



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Prompto Argentum, Doesn't mean there isn't any, Just because it says "Chose not to use warnings", Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Proceed with caution, as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumn/pseuds/argentumn
Summary: He’s shivering again, cold as if the Glacian herself had touched him.He doesn’t remember a time when the expanse of Niflheim was a desert, like his father does; he only knows the snow and ice that came from Shiva's wrath. He needs to keep moving, he knows, or he’lldiehere in this recessed rock and running from his home would’ve been for nothing. His body is locked in place, frozen and whatever skin he has exposed is numb.He’s so cold…a.k.a — the one where prompto is a runaway from niflheim





	1. going, going

**Author's Note:**

> ok, so _this_ is going to be my little pet project, ~~at least for a little bit~~ because the idea of a runaway prompto is eating my brain and won't give up until it's all written down.
> 
> **fair warning; this story may contain distressing content and each chapter affected will have appropriate warnings and signposting.**
> 
> the tags are a work in progress as the story continues, so please be sure to check them every so often to make sure you know what's happening.
> 
> _this work is totally un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own ~~and whatever spellcheck/grammarly missed~~_

**_warning:_ ** _mentions of firearms, very vague panic attack and the use of canon-typical violence are present in this chapter._

 

♢|ll|l|ll||l|♢

 

He’s cold, oh so cold, which is unheard of.

No one from Niflheim is susceptible to the cold, especially not him. But here he is, curled as far into himself as he can possibly manage, with a weak fire desperately trying to provide him with some form of warmth.

They’re looking for him, he knows; no one escapes the Keep and isn’t found. The alcove where he’s decided to hide is protected by a snowy rock face on three sides, with an overhang that shields him from the eyes of ships that fly by. He had buried that gods-forsaken bracelet under rock and snow miles away, understanding wholeheartedly he was as good as dead if he’d kept it.

How quickly a ship had appeared above his hurried hiding place, just after removing it, cemented the knowledge.

For hours, he huddled under an evergreen fir, its branches heavy with fresh snow. _Hours_ he waited until the low hums of ship engines vanished and the air was still. He had moved slowly, keeping to whatever cover was available, ears red and numb from the wind but always listening. He walked for days, with only the snow and wind for company.

He collapsed just a few feet from where he now sits, tired and hungry, but resolute in getting as far away from the capital as possible with only the clothes on his back and a stolen gun from his father’s cupboard. He knows he won’t — _doesn’t want to_ — use it, can feel the bulk of it against his side, cold skin against even colder metal. He had dismantled it time and again, just like his father had taught him, putting it back together just to take it apart once more. He had found a small tracker hidden under the chamber, had thrown it into the first ravine he could find.

He’s shivering again, cold as if the Glacian herself had touched him.

He doesn’t remember a time when the expanse of Niflheim was a desert, like his father does; he only knows the snow and ice that came from Shiva's wrath. He needs to keep moving, he knows, or he’ll _die_ here in this recessed rock and running from his home would’ve been for nothing. His body is locked in place, frozen and whatever skin he has exposed is numb.

_He’s so cold…_

The crunch of snow under boots jolts his brain, even when his body is infuriatingly still.

He needs to be alert, to focus on whatever danger is heading for him, but his mind is so fogged with cold and hunger, he doesn’t even react when a woman stands in front of him and aims a dagger at his throat. It’s a reflexive habit he recognises idly because she doesn’t kill him on sight. Instead, she stands there, tense and observing. He should feel vulnerable, _scared_ even, but he hasn’t the energy to feel anything but resignation. She must not deem him a threat, however, because the dagger is removed and replaced with swathes of fabric she pulled from gods know where.

He’s manhandled to the furthest point away from the alcove entrance and a new, better fire quickly replaces the ashes left from his pathetic attempt.

She doesn’t speak a word at or to him until the fire is burning brightly and she’s wrapped up in her own blanket a little way from his left.

“Sleep, kid.”

Her voice is quiet, but he knows an order when he hears one. His eyelids close almost on their own and he surrenders to the blank abyss of sleep quickly.

 

♢|ll|l|ll||l|♢

 

Her name is Aranea, she tells him as such when he wakes.

_He knows that name, but from where?_

He’s only vaguely more alert than he had been when she’d first come across him, but it was better than his being completely catatonic. She feeds him something from a can, warmed by the fire and the first thing he’s eaten in _days._  He can only stomach a third of it, but she finishes the rest.

He’s not sure how much time passes with Aranea keeping him alive, but eventually, he’s strong enough to at least feed himself and to take a few wobbly steps around their hideaway. A few more days pass before she asks for his name and he finds he doesn’t hesitate to tell her.

“Prompto.”

He wants to throw up all the measly portions of food he’s managed when she nods pensively and smirks. “As I thought.”

_They found him._

_He’s going back._

_He’s going to die._

A hand forces his head between his knees and through the clamorous ringing in his ears, Aranea is ordering him to breathe. He doesn’t want to, but his body is so conditioned to following orders, it breathes anyway. His heartbeat is too fast, he can feel it against his temples like a raging headache and he wants to scream. He wants to scream until his throat is raw and everyone in Eos knows how badly he wants to escape his life. But none of that matters anymore. He’s been found. He’ll be taken back, forced to kneel in front of a psychotic tyrant parading as a technological mastermind and he’ll be dead before the next sunrise for his insubordination.

And his father will most likely be the one to pull the trigger.

His breathing evens, ears blessed by silence and for a moment he wonders if he’s managed to kill himself by way of panic. Then, he becomes all too aware of Aranea beside him and realises there’s no way he’d be returned to the Emperor as anything but _alive;_  not when his death would be broadcast as a warning hidden behind sick entertainment. He’s resigning himself to the fact that his little escape plan had failed, that he really was too stupid to survive on his own and that he was going to pay for his mistakes heavily.

Things happen very quickly after that.

A loud whirring noise is the only warning he and Aranea get before he’s being shoved along, legs unsteady and sinking up to his knees in deep snow. He doesn’t risk a glance over his shoulder; the shadow engulfing him is enough. As if Aranea hadn’t been enough, now MTs had found them and he really was running for his life. Mercifully, the deep snow was causing as much hindrance to the mechanical soldiers as it was to him. Aranea had pulled a weapon out of thin air and was fending off attacks as they ran. The horrible clanking Prompto had grown accustomed to hearing in the halls of the Keep, sounded wrong and forbidden in the winter expanse of north Niflheim.

He keeps running, slogging through the snow and listening to the sounds of Aranea fighting MT after MT.

He keeps running, the sun glinting off bright snowdrifts and making it harder for him to see.

He keeps running until there’s a noise behind him, that sounds like a wounded animal.

A part of him tells him to ignore it, to keep going until he’s left the snow and the MTs and the expanse of Niflheim behind. But a larger part of him makes him stop and turn around, reaching for the gun still tucked into his waistband. He lets a bullet fly as he finishes turning, blindly and an MT stutters before crashing to the snow in a heap of twisted metal. He fires twice more, felling the MTs that are in range.

Aranea is kneeling in the snow, weapon held out in front of herself defensively. She looks to be nothing but winded, heaving deep breaths. Prompto retraces his steps, coming to a stop in front of her and holds his gun at eye level, focused on the MTs that have stopped just out of the gun’s limit. He is running primarily on adrenaline, still cold and still weaker than he should be, but determined to keep himself and Aranea _alive_.

Something presses into his back from behind. Turning his head slightly, Prompto sees a lump in Aranea’s outstretched hand.

“Throw this at them, as hard and as fast as you can.”

He doesn’t question it, doesn’t question _her_ , just takes it and heaves it towards the MTs. It lands at their feet and Aranea pulls him flat on the ground in the next second. His yelp of surprise is covered by the explosion and screech of metal as the MTs are blown apart. Fragments of magitek armour rain down on them, landing with a soft crunch on the snowfield.

Prompto sits in stunned silence, looking over the debris and wondering if that would have been him eventually, had he not run when he did. He turns, ready to ask Aranea _what in the Six just happened_ but she gives him no time. Hauling him to his feet with an impressive display of strength, Aranea forces him to start walking again with a hand pressing insistently on the small of his back.

 

♢|ll|l|ll||l|♢

 

They make it to Tenebrae.

How they made it, Prompto has no idea, but they’re waved through the boundary gates with little fuss and a suspiciously familiar nod from a guard to Aranea.

What’s more, they make it to the _train station._

_Unimpeded._

No one had looked twice at either of them, which had never happened to Prompto before in his life. Everywhere he went, _someone_ was always looking at him. It’s almost a relief when he passes guard after guard and not one of them stop him to question who he is. It’s almost _scary,_  the fact he’s such a nameless face in the small crowd gathering in wait for the train’s departure, following Aranea as she strides forward with so much confidence and her head held high.

“Commodore Highwind. A moment, please.”

Prompto nearly walks straight into Aranea, as she stops in her tracks. He barely catches the hissed _“head down”_ she throws over her shoulder and he immediately looks at his shoes. Someone is standing in front of them, bowing in greeting — judging by their shadow — and Prompto has a fleeting feeling of fear. Had someone finally noticed who he is? His whole body vibrates with anxiety, fighting the urge to fidget and listening to Aranea talk.

“Lieutenant, I’m rather in a hurry. Make it quick.”

The thought of _military_ flashes through Prompto’s head, again and again until he finally puts two and two together.

 _Aranea Highwind,_  Commodore in the Niflheim Military. A high-ranking officer who gave the Emperor such a headache with her distrust of other officers, he’d given up on trying to wrangle her submission. The very same woman who had helped him escape MTs and escorted him to Tenebrae, despite knowing who and what he is.

And that very same woman is helping him _escape_.

He wants to smack himself for taking so long to notice.

Prompto gets lost in his own thoughts long enough for Aranea to finish her conversation and startle him back to reality. She says nothing, nudging him forward and further along the station platform, towards the back train carriages. Her hand is coaxing where it rests on the small of his back, guiding him as he keeps his eyes firmly fixed to his feet.

He wants to question her, ask her _why_ she hasn’t turned him in and _why_ she hasn’t asked what he was doing out in the punishing expanse of snow and ice, alone and as good as dead.

Aranea doesn’t give him the opportunity, pushing him onto the train. Prompto turns, about to ask whether or not she’s coming with him — wherever this train is headed — but she takes his hand and places a slip of paper in it, quietly.

“If anyone asks to see your ticket, give them this and tell them you’re on a classified mission. Understood?”

He can only nod as he tucks it into his pocket, glancing around the platform as the crowd starts to disperse, those taking the train hurrying to make it aboard before the conductor can blow his whistle. It’s a split second decision, for Prompto to reach out and throw his arms around Aranea’s shoulders, hugging her tightly and whispering his thanks in her ear.

“If anyone should make it out of this gods-forsaken place, it’s you, Prompto.”

He doesn’t have a chance to ask her what she means, because he’s startled by the obnoxiously loud train whistle and by the time he turns back to say goodbye, she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on my [anime tumblr](http://miraiaho.tumblr.com/) | [writing tumblr](http://willowescribble.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/argentulric) and say hi


	2. gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompto is not where he should be, but he definitely isn't expecting _this_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings: n/a**
> 
>  
> 
> two updates in a few days, who am I and how did this happen. thank you so much to everyone that commented on my first chapter, I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy this update!

When Loqi finds that stupid, _stupid_ boy, he’s going to make him suffer through the worst training imaginable.

Really, his brother has a knack for finding the tiniest hiding places, but Loqi has turned the entire Keep upside down _thrice over_ and still can’t find him.

For the first few days of Prompto’s disappearance, his favourite maid — a horrible old crone, in Loqi’s opinion — had made it clear that the boy was ill and was not to be disturbed. Loqi and their parents had thought nothing of it, chalking it up to a compromised immune system caused by the never-ending cold and had stayed clear of Prompto’s room.

Then nearly a week went by and there had been no further news on his condition.

By the time their father had bothered sending Loqi to check on his brother, Prompto was nowhere to be found.

Loqi is well aware of what the servants — the human ones, at least — say about him behind his back. They say he’s cruel and crass, undeserving of a brother like Prompto; the most ruthless soldier and none of them dare look him in the eye. So when he finally tracks down and corners that horrible woman, he’s surprised when she not only looks him in the eye but doesn’t back down when he starts asking questions.

“Master Prompto asked not to be disturbed,” she has no trouble holding her head high, even with her back literally against a wall. “That is the message I passed on, Master Loqi. I was simply doing as was asked of me.”

She doesn’t flinch when he growls, something the other servants would most likely fall over their own feet praising her for. He slams a fist into the wall in frustration and this old coot must have a backbone made of the same steel his armour is forged from, because she clicks her tongue and sends him an admonishing look, before turning and walking towards the kitchen, leaving him alone in the darkened hallway.

He doesn’t want to, but he _has to_ tell their father. Prompto’s _gone_ and he has no idea for how long. It could be only a day, but it could also very well have been the entire week. And so Loqi finds himself stalking the halls of the Keep, looking everywhere possible for a tell-tale flash of blond hair and freckled skin.

He’s stalling. _Of course,_ he is. If he can find his wayward brother on his own, Loqi will avoid the inevitable fallout of his father hunting Prompto down, instead. Because really, he may be abrasive and admittedly cruel, but he does love his brother.

He has to find him.

 

♢|ll|l|ll||l|♢

 

Prompto lurches awake as the train hits a bump in the tracks.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’d found an empty bunk compartment early on and no one had disturbed him. The bunks around him are still empty, compartment door shut and the only sound is the general noise of the train. So he gets up, with half a moment’s hesitation and goes to explore the train.

The scenery outside has changed drastically, from the trees and greenery of Tenebrae to something Prompto has never seen before. There’s water to his left, actual honest to the gods _ocean_ and Prompto only wishes he had something to capture the moment with. There are cliffs to his right and not a lot else, but his attention is firmly plastered to the windows overlooking the water and he’s enthralled.

He’s so captivated by the way the sunlight bounces off the waves, he doesn’t notice the man that sits down on the seat opposite him.

“Never seen the ocean before, kid?”

Prompto has to fight — _hard_ — to stop himself from bolting out of his seat.

The man is looking at him, unaware of or casually ignoring how he’d just made Prompto nearly leap out of his own skin. He can’t be much older than Prompto, with a youthful face beneath silver hair and a charming smile that surely puts any susceptible lady in a tizzy.

Prompto is no lady, but he can’t deny the way his stomach swoops at the sight.

There’s a barely-there twitch that threatens to break the man’s smile and Prompto realises he’s still waiting for an answer to the question. But it’s there and gone, the man settling for asking a new one instead.

“Where’re you off to, then?”

For a moment, Prompto’s tongue feels too big in his mouth, clumsy as he tries to answer. He digs the paper Aranea gave him out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Argentum? I didn’t know they had a kid.”

A bright flush threatens to wreak havoc on Prompto’s face and he tries not to stutter. He really should have _read_ that paper when she’d given it to him.

“I, uh, was separated from them as a child.”

It’s a weak excuse, by all accounts but silver-hair only nods and smiles, before handing Prompto back the paper and holding out his hand.

“Name’s Dino Ghiranze, I’m a freelance journalist based out of Lestallum.”

Prompto shakes the man’s — _Dino’s_ — hand and smiles.

“Prompto.”

Maybe it’s the confidence Dino exudes and how _easy_ it is to feed off that self-assured aura, but Prompto manages to make conversation with the journalist for the rest of the train ride. They don’t talk about any particular thing, just general interests and hobbies. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Dino to uncover Prompto’s love of photography and makes him an offer.

“If you’re looking for experience, I’d be happy for you to tag along for work.”

Naïve and simple-minded as his family likes to think he is, Prompto knows a hidden agenda when it is presented to him and he makes his response as blunt and deadpan as possible.

“What would be in it for you, then?”

Dino blinks at him, mouth parted slightly in surprise and then he _laughs_. Prompto startles at the sound, loud and carefree, even when other passengers send scathing looks in their direction. A woman a few seats away scoffs at him when Prompto tries to apologise and the blond fixes the journalist with a scathing glare.

Dino only wheezes more when he notices.

 

♢|ll|l|ll||l|♢

 

It had become glaringly obvious that Prompto has no idea what to do or _where to go_ when the train line ended somewhere in North Succarpe.

Dino had taken pity on him, scrawny, shy and the furthest from home he’d ever been, and offered to take him to meet the Argentums.

His _parents._  Prompto was sticking with that story for as long as he could.

And so they went, Dino procuring an inexpensive camera from astrals know where and had set Prompto to work along the way.

It was a good idea, for all intents and purposes.

It gave them both something to do, taking small job requests from people in the places they stopped overnight in, earning some gil and letting Prompto explore the world he’d spent most of his life hidden away from. He’s infinitely enchanted by chocobos, Dino discovers, laughing at the starry-eyed expression that seems permanently fixed on the blond’s face when they encounter a flock of wild birds on the road.

Prompto manages to become the entertainment for the entire journey, occasionally hauling Dino over to something by the arm, gesturing and smiling as he took in the landscapes before him.

They reach Altissia in good time, even with the number of pit stops along the way.

Prompto’s face glows with excitement as he takes in the city for the first time, even as the bright sunlight washes out his pale hair and skin. He bounces on the balls of his feet, childish joy flooding through him as he experiences an actual _bustling city_ , where people actually talk to each other and _smile_ when they pass someone on the street.

Gralea was nothing like that.

Gralea was cold and its citizens were miserable. With streets so narrow no car could possibly pass through and dull colours, all steel and concrete, at best the city looked abandoned. At worst, a prison. Prompto hated Gralea — hated the Keep even more, really — but it had been all he’d ever known.

Until now.

Dino led the way through the Altissian streets, stopping on occasion to make small talk with someone they passed. Prompto did his best to look unassuming, but the curious glance of a shop girl Dino was engaged in conversation with, told him he wasn’t doing very well.

So, Prompto made himself busy, studying the architecture of buildings around him until Dino was finished.

He doesn’t take long and soon enough, Prompto finds himself standing in front of a modest house with a plain blue front door. He waits with his hands clasped behind his back as Dino knocks on the door in a practised pattern. It opens a moment later and a woman is standing in the doorway, just shorter than Prompto with the same shock of blonde hair and freckled skin.

Dino is clearly expecting him to say something, but Prompto can only gape at the woman in shock, his legs buckling underneath him and sending him to the ground. He’s never met this woman, never even _seen_ this woman before, but there’s something absolutely instinctual that clings to the tip of his tongue when Prompto can finally get his voice to work.

_“Mum?”_

 

♢|ll|l|ll||l|♢

 

There’s a flurry of movement in the halls of Insomnia’s Citadel when the news comes through.

“Your Majesty!”

A messenger bursts into the meeting room, cutting off an elderly council member abruptly and earning a heated glare for the intrusion, chest heaving as they double over trying to catch their breath.

“There’s news from Gralea.”

Several people in the room are on their feet immediately, surprised and tensed, ready for the inevitable news of a renewed war effort on the part of the Empire. The King sits at the head of the long meeting table, offering no reaction other than a hand tightening around the arm of his chair and waves the other to encourage the messenger to speak.

“We’ve,” another heaved breath, “We’ve received word that a noble’s son has disappeared.”

King Regis sits unnaturally still, knuckles turned white with the force of his grip on the chair.

“And,” the messenger looks around the room at the congregation, gauging the expressions on various faces.

“He may be heading for Lucis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be pretty busy for the next week because of finals, but hopefully, I'll be able to update again soon! As usual, come chat to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/argentulric)!

**Author's Note:**

> **Do not repost or redistribute this work on any other site/app. If you see this work anywhere but on AO3, it has not been posted/shared with consent.**


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